Imagine you're a relatively new mother to a 12 month old daughter. After you've survived the first 5 months of hell things are finally going swimmingly. Naps and nighttime sleeping schedules are met with relative ease (everything being relative when you have a baby). Mealtimes, though not the most pleasant part of the day, almost always culminate with some sort of healthy nourishment being ingested - either by the baby or by you because you hate the idea of throwing away yet another jar of sweet potatoes. The baby's development is progressing exceptionally well according to the medical schedules. And to put the cherry on the sundae, after nursing your child for that magic number of 365 days you've successfully weaned her with little drama or pain, psychological or physical, to either party.
Bolstered by your obvious natural ability for raising above average children you begin to let your guard down. You start to coast. When your child cries you very rarely feel compulsion to twitch, thinking the colic is back. When friends or family call, asking to visit, you can tell them with absolute certainty what the best time of the day would be to come by because you know, down to 10 minutes, when you're child will go down and wake up from her naps. And then...
Karma, first cousin to Fate and Lucy, steps in and pulls the football away just when you were about to kick the game winning field goal. Uh, uh, uuuh, not so fast, she says, your baby is now becoming a toddler. And with that you get:
Attitude to spare. Tantrums. A change in nap schedule (You lose the morning nap and only get one nap a day. If you're lucky.) And, saving the best for last (so far) - Constipation.
Why the hell didn't anyone tell me about this?!
I guess I shouldn't have put away those baby books.
Monday, May 15, 2006